


Those Who Wait

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Drama, War of the Ring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2003-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-23 08:43:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3761963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Happenings in Rivendell after the departure of the Company. Movie-verse, original characters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arwen

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

She managed to make it safely back to her chamber  
before the tears began to flow. Why did he keep doing  
this to her?

It was at moments like this, after partings like  
this, that she came close to despair. Why couldn't he  
understand? She didn't care about crowns or kingdoms  
or safety or peace. She knew what a Ranger's life was  
like and had prepared herself to share it. She could  
use sword and bow, heal the wounds and sicknesses of  
Men and animals, tend garden and dairy and do all the  
other duties that fell to the mistress of a holding.

They could have been married years ago. Father  
would have been unhappy, yes, but the matter would  
have been settled. He'd have had no choice but to  
accept it. As it was he kept hoping, kept arguing. Oh  
this was his doing, she knew it was! She'd overheard  
him before, telling Aragorn he would only bring her  
to misery and death, making him believe it.  
  
The brief spurt of anger died. She knew only too  
well how much it would hurt Elrond to lose her, how  
could she blame him for putting up a fight? Wouldn't  
she do the same in his place.

Besides, it wasn't Father who'd made Aragorn give  
her back her ring all those years ago in Lorien and  
tell her he had nothing to offer her to match what she  
would have to give up, that they must forget each  
other. That had been his own idea, his own belief. And  
she'd never, for all her efforts, been able to change  
his mind.

She'd lain awake all that long, miserable night  
listening to the golden leaves rustling around her  
chamber and remembering Aragorn's father and  
grandfather and all those other Heirs of Isildur who'd  
loved her so passionately as boys and forgotten her so  
completely once they were Men. And it was in the dark  
watches of that endless night that a terrible fear  
entered her heart, fear that Aragorn had tired of her,  
like all his fathers before him, but was too kind to  
tell her so.

By daylight she'd known the thought for the  
nonsense it was. Had seen the love and the pain in his  
eyes and known that he truly believed she would be  
better off without him. Aimlessly idling the long  
years away in the peace and beauty of Rivendell and  
Lorien.

But it was to late for that. She knew it, even if  
he didn't. Neither Aragorn nor her father seemed to  
understand she'd changed. She was no longer the blythe  
Elf child she'd once been, and never could be again.  
The Mortal side of her nature had become very strong  
over fifty years of loving a Man and fitting herself  
to live among his people. She was more Woman than Elf  
now and she knew in her heart Aman was not for her.

Even if Aragorn died, or truly tired of her and  
never wanted to see her again she would stay in Middle  
Earth and grow old and die alone if she must. Like her  
brothers before her she had found her true self and  
there was no going back. Even though she knew it would  
break her father's heart, and her mother's, and her  
grandparents' too.

She wiped her eyes. If Aragorn returned she would  
tell him that, and he'd finally stop being so blasted  
noble and self sacrificing and let them get on with  
making a life together. If he didn't return, she'd  
find him again beyond the Circles of the World, as  
Luthien their ancestress had found Beren. Either way,  
they'd be together - and that was all that mattered.  



	2. Elrond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happenings in Rivendell after the departure of the Company. Movie-verse, original characters.

Death was Elrond's enemy. It had taken his twin  
brother, his foster parents, the friends of his  
childhood and youth, and generation after generation  
of his kin. Loved, nurtured, advised - then lost,  
stolen from him by the Mortality of Men.

It would take his sons too - someday. But not his  
daughter, not Arwen! He didn't like what he was doing  
to both his daughter and the nephew-foster son who  
loved her, but he had no choice.

Arwen belonged with her mother's people, the few  
thin drops of Mortal blood she'd inherited from him  
couldn't be allowed to change that. Aragorn would  
survive, Men were accustomed to living with sorrow. If  
he lived at all, which was questionable.

Elrond had done his best to persuade his Elven  
peers to honor the ancient alliance with the Men of  
the West, but he wasn't surprised that he'd failed.  
The two Kindreds had become estranged over this last  
Age. The descendants of the Fathers of Men were few  
and scattered. Most Mortals in Middle Earth came from  
Men who'd had no part in the ancient wars, or even  
fought on the other side.

Could it be Aragorn had been right all along? Even  
if he were to proclaim his lineage and show the sword  
of Elendil reforged would Men follow? Might not even  
Gondor turn its back on him as it had on Arvedui? Had  
the time of the Dunedain passed even as had the time  
of the Elves? Elrond feared it was so. When he cast his  
Sight forward he saw only Darkness.

The clatter of hooves in Rivendell's forecourt  
roused him from his reverie. Going to the balcony  
overlooking the dusk shadowed yard he saw a small  
troop of Rangers dismounting. Then he recognized his  
nephews and niece and hurried down to them.

Gilvagor's face, so eerily like that of Elros his  
distant forefather, was set in grim lines.

"Greymere's fallen." he told Elrond bluntly,  
without greeting. "The Line is broken, we can hold  
them back no longer."

So it had come at last. If even the stubborn  
Isildurioni admitted they were overmatched the end  
must be very near. "You have done all that you can,  
Gilros." (1) Elrond answered. "Time for you to think of  
your own people." with concern; "Aranel and the  
children?"

"Safe. The household and most of the garrison  
escaped through the tunnel beneath the mere." the  
Captain pushed a hand through tangled, sweat dampened  
hair, glanced at his cousins.

"There is an army massing in the Ettenmoors,  
Uncle." Beruthiel said quietly. "Orcs, Wargs and  
Trolls. I doubt Rivendell can be held."

"I am sure it cannot." he rejoined grimly. "I am  
sending my people to the Havens, there is no refuge  
left in Middle Earth." but for Elves there was escape.  
"What of the Dunedain?"

"I have ordered the people of the North Wardenships  
to regroup at Annuminas." Gilvagor said crisply.

Elrond nodded, feeling a faint trickle of relief.  
"A good choice." The Kingdom of the Lake had withstood  
the last Dark Tide, perhaps it could ride out this one  
as well. It was their only chance. He looked from  
nephews to niece and frowned, suddenly troubled.  
"Surely the three of you didn't come all this way just  
to bring me news any courier might have carried?"

"No indeed." Gilvagor answered briskly. "We have  
come for the treasure of Elendil."

"Of course, it will no longer be safe here." Elrond  
agreed, but warily sensing something more behind the  
request that he didn't like at all.

"We would not willingly allow the Star and the  
Scepter to fall into the hands of the Enemy," said his  
nephew, "but more importantly we have need of the arms  
and banners in the treasury."

"Why?" Elrond stared at his Mortal kin with terror  
in his heart. "Gilros, surely you do not mean to  
fight?"

Two Men and a Woman returned his appalled stare  
steadily. "What else would you have us do?" Belecthor  
asked calmly.

"Take refuge in Annuminas! For once in a thousand  
years take thought for your own lives!" Elrond cried.  
"You said yourself the Line was broken, that the  
Dunedain could no longer hold back the Enemy."

"That is so." Belecthor agreed, "and therefore we  
go forth to face him in open battle."

"And we mean to hide no longer!" Gilvagor's voice  
rang through the yard, drawing other Elves to listen  
and watch, and his eyes blazed with a silver flame. "We  
will take up again the arms of our fathers and show  
the banners and devices of the House of Elendil and  
the Dunedain of the North."

"And you will die!" Elrond shouted back,  
passionately.

Gilvagor made an impatient gesture, but Belecthor  
answered almost gently: "All Men die, Uncle, it is  
just a question of when and how. If this is to be the  
end of the Dunedain it will be such an end as to make  
the Fathers of Men proud."

"You cannot win." he said in despair. And it was  
true, the might of Mordor had grown beyond the power  
of Men and Elves to match. This war was lost before it  
was even begun and none knew it better than the  
Dunedain, long the scouts and spies of the White  
Council.

All three Mortals nodded, quite calmly. "The true  
battle does not lie with us." Beruthiel reminded him  
quietly. "We seek but to buy time for the Ringbearer  
to complete his quest."

"And if Frodo fails?" her uncle demanded harshly.  
"Then Darkness will take all Middle Earth even unto  
the End of Days and your blood will have been spent  
for nothing! Already the Ringbearer falters and our  
last hope with him!"

But Gilvagor shook his head. "Our last hope lies  
beyond the Circles of the World." he said softly, but  
with a conviction Elrond remembered well. "Our Father  
will never abandon his Children to the Shadow. If we  
fall he will raise up others to carry on the fight,  
and others after them, generation upon generation  
until the World is cleansed."

"Despair is the tool of the Enemy, as you of all  
Men should know." Belecthor chided, and smiled as  
Elrond stared at him, nonplussed. "Yes I said Man. You  
were a Man before you were an Elf, Uncle, and part of  
you will always belong to us. Don't forget the  
teachings of your Mortal Kin, for we have our own  
wisdom which is unlike that of the Elves."  
***

The next evening Elrond stood at a window of his  
library, watching as the last twinkling Elf lantern  
disappeared over the rim of the valley. His people  
were on their way to the Havens and safety, and Arwen  
with them. Finally, finally she had seen where her  
true path lay.

He was relieved beyond measure and yet his heart  
was wrung with pity for Aragorn, his beloved  
foster-son facing dreadful perils in the south, who  
would now come home, if he came home, to a bitter  
loss. But Aragorn too had wanted her to go, Elrond  
reminded himself, had understood the futility of her  
giving up her heritage for something she would  
inevitably lose anyway.

Dispite his love Aragorn would have left her in the  
end. His nature, the mortality of Men, would give him  
no choice. And Arwen would have dragged out who knew  
how many long years alone, without the consolation of  
her kin, before finally passing into the dark herself.  
Truly it was better this way he told himself - and  
knew he lied.

But the Blessed Land would heal Arwen's grief. And  
Aragorn, even if he somehow survived, would not have  
to bear his for long. The Doom of Men would spare him  
the endless years of loss.

Elladan and Elrohir were gone as well, but not to  
the Havens. They had ridden south some weeks before  
with a party of Rangers, joining their fate to that of  
the Dunedain as they had decided to do many years  
before. His sons and his daughter had chosen their  
roads and were gone. It was high time Elrond himself  
decided what he was going to do.

Turning away from the balcony he paced along the  
gallery until he came face to face with Isildur,  
confronting Sauron in the final desperate moments of  
that earlier war, and his heart was wrung again by an  
old familiar grief for another beloved nephew who had  
saved them all and yet failed them in the end.

But Frodo too was failing as the Ring's power over  
him grew. His Hobbit innocence and resilience of no  
more avail than Isildur's strength and the divine  
Maiar strain in his blood. Perhaps the Ring was to  
strong for any of them.

"Forgive me, my nephew, if I have judged you to  
harshly and blamed unjustly." he said softly. "And  
forgive me, Frodo Baggins, for putting you to this  
trial but you were our only hope."

He turned to the statue of Elemmire (2) but the  
shield she cradled was empty, the blade of Elendil  
gone. Elrond stared a moment, nonplussed, then told  
himself his Mortal nephews, Elendil's Heirs, must have  
taken his sword along with their other heirlooms. Yet  
he was filled with a strange uneasiness, a dark  
forboding that he shrugged aside with an effort. It  
was time he too was leaving, it wouldn't take him long  
to catch up with his people on the west road to the  
Havens.

But even as he formulated the thought he knew his  
heart had already chosen otherwise. He looked down at  
Vilya, gleaming blue on his hand, and smiled crookedly.  
Six thousand years and more he had lived as an Elf,  
for the last three thousand as King in all but name of  
the Eldar west of the mountains. But Belecthor was  
right, the choice made so long ago hadn't changed the  
blood in his veins. He was, and would always be, but  
Half-Elven. And the half that was Man would not, could  
not, abandon his kin in their last need - even if all  
he could do was die beside them. Whatever the other  
Elven lords decided *he* at least would stand by the  
ancient alliance between Men and Elves.

He pulled the ring from his finger and holding it  
tightly in his closed hand went swiftly, robes  
billowing, down the stair from the gallery, across the  
terrace and down the steps to the courtyard. Only to  
come to an abrupt halt, staring incredulously, at a  
forecourt filled with rank upon rank of armoured Elven  
warriors, their tall helms and bright spearpoints  
catching the starlight.

Glorfindel, eyes glinting laughter, stepped forward  
and made him a bow. "We await your orders, my Lord  
Elrond."

"I thought I had already given you my orders." he  
managed to reply.

Fair brows arched innocently. "Forgive me, my Lord,  
but I cannot remember hearing any such."

Elrond tried to look stern, failed utterly and  
laughed instead. "You know me well, Glorfindel,  
perhaps better than I know myself." he hesitated a  
moment, tempted to go after his sons. But no, there  
were those nearer at hand who could use his help and  
that of a hundred or so Elven knights. "We will ride  
north, to join the army of the Dunedain mustering at  
Cristhoron (3). Give me a few moments to make ready."

The ranks of knights parted before him as he  
crossed the courtyard to climb the steps to his  
private chambers. He put Vilya carefully away in its  
small casket, then pulled aside a hanging to uncover a  
door unopened for many long years. Inside hanging from  
pegs on the wall were armour, shield - and a sword.

He took the last down reverently with both hands,  
the curved, single edged Elven blade glittered a  
chilly blue-white. This was Ringil the sword of  
Fingolfin, first High King of the Noldor in Exile, who  
had fallen before the very gates of Angband, wounding  
Morgoth with his last desperate blow. His sword had  
been left lying where it fell from his dying hand, to  
be found long years later by the Host of Valinor when  
they beseiged the fortress.

And so it had come to Elrond who was, with his  
brother Elros, Fingolfin's only living descendant and  
heir. For long years it had hung unused in this hidden  
closet but now they would go to war together one more  
time, the last battle of the last war.  
***

1\. 'Gilros' is Elrond's name for Gilvagor, its  
meaning, 'Star Foam' is the same as that of Elros who  
Gilvagor strongly resembles.

Gilvagor is the son of Arathorn's brother Armegil and  
Aragorn's heir. Belecthor and Beruthiel are brother and  
sister, children of Ellian, sister to Arathorn and Armegil.

2\. Elemmire was the daughter of Elendil. The shards of  
his sword were brought to her by her grandson, one of  
the three survivors of the Gladden Field.

3\. 'Eagle Cleft' is the home and stronghold of the  
Wardens of the Angle, a title currently held by  
Beruthiel's elder son Ereinion.


	3. Mr. Bilbo Baggins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happenings in Rivendell after the departure of the Company. Movie-verse, original characters.

No two ways about it, it was all his fault.

If only he hadn't found the the Ring! But if not  
him it would have been some Orc, and with Sauron  
practically next door in Dol Guldur he'd have had it  
back before you could wink and then where would they  
all be?

Bilbo sighed and massaged his eyes wearily. The  
wide world was a very complicated place, everything  
was connected with everything else so that if you  
changed just one little thing, like a Hobbit Burglar  
with a magic ring, it might all fall apart.

Without the Ring he wouldn't have escaped the  
Goblin Tunnels or been able to rescue his companions  
time and time again. And without Thorin and Company  
Smaug would still be brooding over the ruins of Erebor  
and Dale, and the Dwarves would still be wandering  
homeless, and poor Bard would have died a simple  
bowman in Laketown.

So, odd as it seemed, the Ring of the Enemy had  
done *some* good, at least while it was in the hands  
of Bilbo Baggins! What was it Gandalf had said? Oh  
yes, That he, Bilbo, had been *meant* to find the Ring  
and to use it, and *meant* to pass it on to Frodo when  
it became to much for him.

And it was to much for him, he'd proved that to  
himself, and Frodo too, the day the Fellowship left  
Rivendell. The Ring had him good and proper, no  
mistaking, why he'd probably carry it straight home to  
Sauron! he shuddered at the thought. No, it had to be  
the boy.

And the quest would cost Frodo his life. Bilbo  
hadn't been meant to hear that but he had. His nephew  
was going to die and it was all his fault. His fault  
for finding the Ring, his fault for adopting Frodo,  
and most of all his fault for leaving the burden to  
him.

"Bilbo."

The Hobbit hastily wiped his eyes and stuffed his  
handkerchief back in his pocket before turning to face  
Elrond.

The Master of Rivendell's face lookd more deeply  
lined than usual, grim and grieving. Bilbo's heart  
stopped. "Frodo?" he managed to croak.

"There has been no fresh news of the Ringbearer."  
Elrond assured him quickly. "But my Mortal kin tell me  
Rivendell itself is under threat from an army of Orcs  
and Trolls mustering in the Ettenmoors. I have decided  
to send my people to the Havens. And you, Bilbo  
Baggins, must decide what you are going to do."

"Do?" the Hobbit echoed blankly.

"You cannot stay here alone." the Elf lord pointed  
out reasonably, knelt down to put himself on eye  
level. "We must pass through the Shire on our way to  
the Havens, you can return to your own people if you  
like."

Bilbo swallowed. "I don't think so. You see they'd  
want to know about Frodo and the others and I wouldn't  
know what to tell them."

"Then you must continue with us to the Havens.  
Cirdan would welcome your company."

"That's very kind of him." said Bilbo politely,  
brightened suddenly. "Why I could see the sea! I'd  
like that."  
***  
  
All of Rivendell was in a tizzy the next day as its  
inhabitants prepared to leave. Which in the case of  
the Elves seemed to involve making farewell visits to  
all their favorite places and walks rather than  
packing.

"Aren't you going to take anything with you?" Bilbo  
asked his friend Lindir.

The Elf smiled sadly. "Food enough for the journey  
to the Havens, a change of garments and perhaps a  
keepsake or two, no more. They say it is better so,  
and we shall find all that we need waiting for us in  
the West." his tone altered. "But that doesn't apply  
to you, Bilbo! You must take your books and your notes  
so you may continue your studies in Mithlond, and  
anything else you think you will need or want."

Half of Rivendell ended up helping Bilbo with his  
packing. The Elves in the kitchens made up packets of  
his favorite things to eat, while other Elves bundled up  
his clothes and pipes and walking sticks, carefully  
collected and wrapped his notes, blank paper and pens,  
and Elrond himself selected books from the library for  
him. Having something to do seemed to cheer them all  
up a little.

Still the atmosphere was very solemn as the long  
procession set out that evening, crossing the bridge  
and winding their way up the long path out of the  
valley, Elf lanterns twinkling like stars in their  
hands.

Bilbo, perched uncomfortably atop an Elven horse  
rather to big for him led by Lindir and surrounded by  
other Elves carrying his packages and bundles, had all  
he could do to keep awake, and the soft Elvish singing  
didn't help one bit! Why they'd waited til nightfall  
to leave he couldn't imagine, nor how long it'd be  
before he'd be able to lie down for a proper sleep.

They stopped just before dawn at an Elven resting  
place off the Great Road with the swift waters of the  
Bruinen chuckling somewhere beyond the trees. Bilbo's  
Elven companions showed him to a bower woven of living  
trees and he crawled gratefully into the heap of furs and  
silken coverlets. He was just drifting off to sleep  
when a soft voiced "Bilbo?" jerked him awake.

"Lady Arwen?" he asked uncertainly, peering into  
the predawn dimness.

A pale oval of a face, framed in dark velvet,  
nodded. "I am not going to the Havens."

"Of course you're not." Bilbo agreed promptly. "Er  
\- where are you going then?"

She smiled. "Where I belong." it faded. "But I  
cannot just disappear, I want my father to know I am  
safe. Tell him - I love him and my mother but I must  
follow my heart." tears made sparkling tracks down her  
cheeks.

"Indeed you must." Bilbo said firmly. "All the ages  
of the world is much too long a time to live with a  
broken heart."

A smile. "I agree." she leaned forward to place a  
kiss on his brow. "Thank you, Bilbo."


End file.
